


DYMM

by twyly56



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam Milligan in Heaven, Adam Was a Bad Influence on Him, Alternate Michael (Supernatural: All Along the Watchtower) Being an Asshole, Alternate Michael (Supernatural: All Along the Watchtower) Possessing Dean Winchester, Alternate Season/Series 14, Angel & Vessel Interactions (Supernatural), Angry Michael (Supernatural), Good Michael (Supernatural), He's Hella Ticked Off, Hurt Jack Kline, Jack Kline Needs A Hug, Michael Comes Back From the Cage, Michael Fixes Stuff, Michael Possessing Adam Milligan, Michael's Gonna Kick Your Butt, Nice Uncle Michael (Supernatural), Possessive Michael, Protective Michael, Sam Winchester's Season 14 Angst Beard, Sassy Michael, Sharing a Body, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Watch Out AU! Mikey, Winged Michael (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 13:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twyly56/pseuds/twyly56
Summary: Michael is very angry with the alternate version of himself. He thinks Jack is adorable. And Adam is Adam and swears a lot.





	1. Chapter 1

**"Mess with me? I'll let karma do its job. Mess with my family? I _become_ karma."**

-Anonymous

A FEW WEEKS AGO

A soft pop resounded in the back alley behind the little diner, and a man in his early twenties appeared out of thin air. A shadow of six great wings flexed against the cracking brick wall before they faded away. The unnatural blue hue of his eyes dimmed to a light greenish blue. He raked a hand through his dirty blonde hair, rolling his shoulders with a pleased moan. His ashy clothes shimmered and morphed into a clean blue button down shirt and dark jeans. 

The angel strolled out from the alleyway and glanced up at the sign. Ooh, Adam loved pancakes. His human hummed his approval in their head, followed by a _'damn right I do'_ , and he felt their lips twitch into a smile. Michael pushed open the door, bell tinkling above their head as he strode inside. He sat down at a red cushioned bar stool, and a portly middle aged woman with greying hair shuffled over to him with a notepad and a pen. Her painted red lips were pulled up in a smile. 

"Hi there. My name's Kristy. What can I get for ya?" the woman asked. 

"May I have a stack of your pancakes, please, ma'am?" Michael asked. 

_'And coffee. Black. Get a black coffee. None of that milk or sugar bullshit,'_ prompted Adam. 

"And a black coffee," Michael said, relaying Adam's preference. The woman nodded and scribbled down on her yellow notepad. 

"Of course, dear. Anythin' else?" she asked. 

"Thank you, but no. That will be all," the angel said. 

"Alrighty then. I'll go get your order in," the woman told him. "Remember, if you need anything, just call for Kristy."

"Thank you, ma'am," Michael replied.

Ten minutes later, the angel had a ceramic plate heaping with pancakes on it thunked in front of him, the mug of black coffee by his elbow. He thanked her and picked up his fork with their fingers. Adam tore off a piece of his pancake, dunking it in a pool of syrup he had poured, and he shoved it into his mouth. He moaned happily as the familiar taste of pancakes exploded on his tongue.

"See _this_? This is what I missed," Adam commented to the Archangel bunking in his head. "Can't get any good food down in that hellhole." 

_'Do you like it, Adam?'_ Michael asked. 

Adam enjoyed the way the angel buzzed excitedly under his skin, sparking his nerves with Grace oh so pleasantly. His eyes rolled back into his head as he shoved another forkful of syrup saturated goodness in his mouth. 

"Oh, _fuck_ yeah," Adam whispered back. "Thanks, Mikey." 

He smirked when he felt the Archangel pout at him in his head. 

_'That is not my name,'_ Michael said, but it came out more like a whine. 

"Aw, you like it better when I call you baby? Hmm?" Adam teased. 

_'I am not in an infantile state,'_ Michael said. 

"Oh, you adorable clueless angel," Adam sighed fondly. "No, of course you're not a baby. It's just a term of endearment. Like honey or sweetheart." 

_'...I see. Are you my 'baby' as well, then?'_ Michael asked. 

Adam snorted and nearly knocked over his coffee mug as he coughed on a laugh. Kristy looked over at him in concern. He gave her a thumbs up and put another piece of pancake in his mouth. She eyed him oddly before she walked off again. 

"Sure, I can be your baby," Adam answered. 

_'Good,'_ Michael said decidedly, giving a mental nod of affirmation. Adam smiled. 

PRESENT DAY

"Glorified be You. All praise is Yours. Perfect is Your name. Most high is Your majesty and greatness. None has the right to be worshiped but You, the one true God," the man sang in Hebrew. He knelt on his prayer mat and pressed his forehead to the floor, words of devotion falling from his lips like water in a murmur. "Glorified be my God, the Highest. Glorified be my God, the Highest. Glorified be my God, the Highest."

The man raised his eyes from the floor, lifting his head. He took a moment to regain his breath, and his eyes landed on a figure sitting in his chair. He startled, jumping backwards in shock. The person wearing a suit and a matching grey hat on his head tilted his head slightly to the side, a slight smile quirking his lips. His eyes were green like an apple. 

"Hello, Jamil," the stranger greeted him in English. His voice was smooth and deep. Authoritative. 

"Who are you?" Jamil asked. 

"Oh, we've never met. But you've read all about me. How does it go?" He frowned slightly as if he was trying to remember something. "'Whoever is an enemy to Allah and His angels and His messengers and Gabriel and Michael, then indeed, Allah is an enemy to the disbelievers,'" the stranger recited in flawless Hebrew. His green eyes flashed a bright blue, glowing for a few moments. 

Jamil gasped. 

"Are you God?" he breathed. 

"Close... but not quite," the stranger said. 

"Gabriel?" Jamil asked. 

The stranger's face twitched in irritation. 

"The other one. The better one," he corrected. 

"Michael?" Jamil gasped. 

"There we go," the Archangel said flatly. 

"Wh-wh-why are you here?" Jamil asked. 

"Well, that is the question, isn't it?" Michael said. He uncrossed his legs and rose from the chair. The Archangel spread his arms. "Why are we here? I know why I'm here. To ask you a question." 

"What question?" Jamil asked. His breath hitched as the Archangel stepped closer to him. 

"The same question I've spent weeks traveling around this world asking all sorts of people. Holy men, leaders... killers. And now I come to you. Jamil Hamed." Michael leaned closer to him. "What do you want?" 

"What?" Jamil said, brows furrowing in confusion. 

"What do you want exactly? If you could have anything, name it," the Archangel told him. 

The man was silent for a moment as he thought. 

"Peace. And love," Jamil replied. Michael gave him a wry smile. 

"If you cared about peace, you never would have left Syria. You never would have ran and abandoned your friends to die." Jamil shook his head in denial, eyes wide, but still the Archangel continued. "And they did die. And if you cared about love, you never would have gone into that broom closet with - what was her name?" Jamil's mouth opened and closed without a sound. " _Darlene._ Your wife never would have left, and you wouldn't be living in this..." Michael looked around his room with disgust on his face. "...rathole." 

Jamil cried out when he was suddenly flipped through the air and tossed across the room. He landed on his stomach with a grunt. 

"And that's the problem. You're lost." Jamil looked up at him and scrambled back against the wall, a whimper escaping his mouth. "And not worth saving." 

"Wha-what, what do you want?" Jamil asked, frightened. 

"What I've always wanted. A better world," the Archangel said. 

A slow clapping noise surprised both Archangel and man. They looked over to the doorway, Jamil with terror and Michael with irritation and confusion. A young man wearing a navy blue button up shirt under a black vest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark jeans tucked into a pair of combat boots leaned against the door frame. His dirty blonde hair glinted in the dim light. 

"Oh my gosh. I _loved_ your speech," the young man gushed in what was obviously a sarcastic tone. He pushed off the door frame and stepped toward them. "I mean, a better world? Who doesn't fucking want that?" 

"Who are you?" the Archangel demanded. 

"Oh. Don't you know?" the newcomer asked. "No? I'm you. Or rather, a version of you." He winked. "The _better_ _one._ " 

"That... isn't possible," Michael said. 

"If you got that information about me being in the Cage from my little brother, well, Luci always did underestimate me," the man claiming to be Michael responded. He looked at Jamil, who was huddled by the wall still. "Hello, Jamil Hamed. I mean, technically, this dickhead's summary of your life is kind of true, but everyone can be saved. And this-" He waved a hand between himself and Michael. "-is complicated. So I'm not going to explain it. Have a nice day!" 

The angel snapped his fingers, and Jamil vanished from the room. He reappeared in a hotel room halfway across the country all by himself. The angel turned back to Michael. 

"There. That's better," he said. 

The Archangel frowned at him. 

"You are communing with your vessel," Michael observed. 

" _He_ has a name, actually. As does that man you are currently wearing. Also _mine,_ " the other angel said. "Breaking your own world wasn't enough. You had to come and try to break mine, is that it?" 

"You know nothing," Michael snarled. "And Dean Winchester gave himself to me. Not you." 

"That may be so, but Dean was born here, on this version of Earth. _Mine._ " The vest wearing angel rolled his shoulders back, unfurling his gunmetal grey wings. Michael responded in kind, eyes glowing in warning. "Exit my vessel now, or I will pull your miserable ass out of him myself." 

"I'd like to see you try," Michael said. 

"I was kind of hoping you'd say that." A dangerous smirk spread across his face. 


	2. Chapter 2

The two Archangels circled each other, flaring their wings high behind their backs. Michael charged at him first, phasing directly in front of him. The air crackled and sizzled with anger, pure and unfettered. Even as his fury singed the very molecules in the immediate vicinity, the angel's movements remained precise and calculated. The slimmer blonde lashed out with his hand, his long fingers threading through Dean's short hair to hold Michael's head in place. He slammed Michael against the wall, and a large crater broke appeared in the wall under his back and the force of his impact. They crashed into the hallway outside the apartment. The other angel's hands fisted Dean's suit lapels, dragging them chest to chest. 

The Archangel's wings flapped behind his back, and they flew through the air before smacking down in an open field, a few cows milling about. The cows were smart enough to scatter when the ground shuddered from their landing. The blonde angel kneed Michael in the stomach, and he grunted from the unnaturally strong force behind it. They grappled with each other, hands, fingers, Grace, arms, legs, wings, scrabbling for dominance. The grey hat fell off his head in the struggle. 

Michael struggled violently against the other angel's grip to no avail. While it might be Lucifer that mainly lost his temper, when the eldest Prince of Heaven was angered, he was a formidable force to be reckoned with. And he was more than angry. The outlying trees were torn from the ground, exploding a spray of splinters as their Grace clashed together, surging up to each other. The smaller blonde angel smacked his forehead hard against Michael's, and the Archangel was startled enough to allow him to shove him to the ground. 

He straddled his waist, jean clad thighs squeezing around his ribs tightly to keep him still. The angel concentrated despite the fire building up underneath him, and his slender hand glowed a blinding white. He thrust it inside Michael's chest almost violently, causing the air to ring around them. The pile of hay off to the side burst into flames unnoticed. Michael screamed, his eyes flashing a brilliant blue, and the blonde angel grinned, sharp and jagged. He twisted his fingers inside the Archangel's chest, tearing at his Grace from his very core. 

"Like that? I learned this from our lovely Aunt. You know, before we locked Her up?" the angel said, spitting out the Enochian like poison from his mouth. "Guess you forgot that, yes? Father wanted us to have a diverse training when it came to doing His will." He jerked his hand up, dragging some strands of silvery white with it, connected still to the Archangel's chest. "Get out! _Get out_ of him now!" 

Fire clashed with fire. Heat enveloped the grass, the field, the city a few dozen miles to the east. It was the middle of November, but people had to take off their jackets and coats to cool off from the summer like blistering heat, sweat dripping down their faces. The smaller angel yelled in Enochian, repeating the same words over and over again, and Michael shrieked in agony, pain pulsing through his Grace even as he attempted to combat it. Adam's face dripped with perspiration, dirty blonde hair flopping over his forehead, the angel inside him too busy trying to force out Michael to prevent him from sweating freely in the sweltering temperature. It didn't hurt him, but it was really effing hot. Heated wind whipped at their skin, tearing at their clothes and hair. 

"You don't belong here. And you killed my brothers," the angel snarled out in Enochian in Michael's face, Adam's skin glowing blinding white. " _Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out!_ " 

The angel inside of Adam lifted his other hand from Michael's face, and the air shimmered around his fingers. A golden tripointed glinted in the early morning sunlight, appearing in his open palm. His slender fingers closed around it, and the angel brought it down, impaling Michael's right topmost wing to the grass below. The Archangel shrieked, causing nearby trees to shatter in two. The angel roughly yanked it back out and stabbed down again. Michael's hands lurched up abruptly, knocking the blonde angel off of his chest and sending him flying across the field. A fair sized chunk of his Grace was torn out when the other angel was pushed away, still clasped in his hand. 

Michael gasped, visibly trembling in pain, Grace flickering with injuries wrought by the other angel's hand. He clutched at his chest, his bloodied wings curling back over him. The blonde angel hissed in angry Enochian and made to fly at him again. There was a booming sound, a flash of brilliant white light, and Dean's eyes went green once more. His eyelids fluttered shut. The angel almost went after Michael to finish what he had started, mighty grey wings flaring, but Dean made a pained groan, his body spasming weakly on the mutilated grass. 

Adam collapsed to his knees by his half brother's side. Michael ran their hands over his chest, healing the pain from their violent encounter with the Archangel with a soothing burst of Grace. They felt somewhat tired from their fight, but Dean was only a human. Humans were not that difficult to heal at all, hardly requiring any Grace to do so. Michael and Adam watched as Dean's breathing evened out, and the bruising and harsh red marks faded to nothing, his skin returning to a healthy color. They smiled and reached under the human to pick him up, cradling Dean to their chest. 

"You guys really did a number on the wildlife, huh?" Adam commented, glancing around at their surroundings. 

It looked as if a tornado had blown through or perhaps a meteor had come down in the middle, a big one. Probably both. Fires burned the splintered trees and dried undergrowth and grass. Michael snapped his fingers, and the flames died down, leaving ashy remains and smoldered wood behind in their place as a result. 

"I suppose that we did," Michael agreed amiably. 

His wings snapped out from his shoulders, and there was a whoosh, a rustling sound of feathers, marking the departure of the Archangel and his true vessel. The field was empty once more. 

Something soft and smooth rubbed against his cheek, and he could feel a warm, comfortable weight laying on top of his body. Dean's eyes blinked open slowly, blearily. Light filtered in through his lashes, illuminating the dimly lit room around him. The hunter sat up in the bed - where had that come from? - with a sharp gasp, heart pounding as the memories came rushing back. Michael was in his head... no. He felt him leave? Why, he couldn't remember. The last few moments before his unconsciousness had been blurry and out of focus for him, the Archangel's iron hold on his mind slipping drastically. 

"Hey, Dean," a vaguely familiar voice said. 

His head whipped around, and he gaped at the young man lounging in the armchair by his bedside, a boyishly crooked grin on his face. His legs were kicked up over the left armrest, crossed at the ankles. No... he had to be dreaming still. 

"Adam?" Dean croaked out. 

"Yeah. That's me," his supposedly dead half brother replied, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning against the back of the chair. He was dressed differently than he had been before. 

"Wha-what happened? Am I dead?" Dean asked him. 

"No. Of course not, big bro. You're perfectly safe and healthy. Mikey got you all fixed up," Adam said. He wiggled the fingers of his right hand in demonstration. Dean frowned. 

"I don't understand. Who's Mikey? And how are you here?" the hunter asked. 

"Oh. Those are both good questions, I guess," Adam said. He made a hmming sound and brought his hands back to his lap, lacing his fingers together. "Michael is the guy that should have killed the Devil, his little brother. He never got around to it, though. He's kinda relieved about that, but I'm sure that it just stressed you guys out. What with him getting out and all. As for how I'm here, well, Mikey and I are pretty close. In fact, he's sort of living in my head." He tapped his index finger against his temple with a smile. "Wanna talk to him?" 

"What?" Dean sputtered. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tried to make sense of this. Michael... from the Cage? But...

"We just figured that you'd be more comfortable talking to me, seeing as I'm related to you. And human. And hey, we were both possessed by an angel. For me, still am. I have a feeling mine's nicer, though," Adam said. "Oh, and as to how you are sans holy feather duster in your head, my Michael ripped him out of you." His half brother smiled. "You're welcome. No need to thank him. He's always happy to help you, Dean." 


End file.
